Page 81 of The Beast King's Bride

21

ASH

The liquor is faintly sweet and aromatic. It burns as it goes down my throat, warming me—and I’m already warm.

Too hot. Aroused. I want him to touch me, hold me. Seeing him naked on the floor, kneeling there, that powerful body perfect in every way, marked by scars from all his fights… It was all I could do not to go on my knees beside him, take his face in my hands.

I’m not used to this. It’s never happened to me before, this desire, this possessive and yet affectionate feeling in my chest as I glance sideways at him, over the rim of the crystal wine glass—at the dark hair falling in those midnight-blue eyes, the clean line of his jaw, the purse of his full lips, the beautiful symmetry of his powerful neck and shoulders, the sculpted chest.

But he doesn’t make a move, and neither do I. In fact, he seems to be lost in thought, and intent on getting drunk, downing yet another glass of the strong liquor and already pouring himself another.

We have to talk, though. About last night. Tonight. Does it count as yesterday or today? About… everything.

“You’re a skin-shifter,” I say softly after so much time has passed, I swear the dark is turning to light outside. “A were-animal.”

That rouses him. He turns those exotic eyes on me, blinking slowly. “For the past hundred years, yes.”

“Since the curse hit you.”

He nods.

“You never told me how the curse affected you. You mostly spoke of your land and the monsters.”

“The land is me,” he whispers, looking down into his glass.

“But the monsters waking in the palace aren’t like you.”

“No. They’re shadow monsters, ancient bones returning to life with her magic to tear us apart.”

“And you?”

“The curse triggered a kind of magic in me that all Fae used to have. An alternate, beastly self. I patrol the palace at night, fight them, do my best to drive them back into the shadows.” He lifts the glass to his lips, takes a sip. “They are too many these days. Too damn many.”

“So you spend the nights in tyger form fighting the monsters, and patrol during the day the lands with your guards.”

“I am the land,” he says again, and I’m not sure what it means, exactly. “I give my magic to the land, to repair what the Decay takes away. That… is also getting worse.”

“When do you rest? When do you sleep?”

One side of his mouth twitches up. “Whenever I find the time. It’s called cat-napping for a reason.”

“Tyger-napping,” I mutter, and the twitch turns into a full smile. It’s bright and beautiful. “You must be dead tired.”

He shrugs those broad shoulders, his smile dimming. “I cannot let my land and my people go hungry or be in danger. I would do anything to help them.”

“Sounds like you’re already doing everything you can.”

“It’s not enough,” he whispers, his voice strained. He finishes his drink in one gulp and pours himself some more.

I’m tempted to take the bottle from him. Instead, I force my hands to stay wrapped around my glass. “And you still think I can help you end this curse, both on you and the land?”

He puts the bottle down on the floor, his dark lashes shadowing his eyes. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

The liquor is loosening my mind, letting me see more clearly. “I wasn’t supposed to have magic to help you lift the curse. I’m only a component in a magical riddle.”

He nods.

“In the tales, it’s usually an action nobody expects that dissolves the curse. And… you know what it is, but can’t tell me.”

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